A Reason
by Faline1
Summary: Endgame. He gave her his heart and she is unable to save his soul. Mel Cousland saves the day and slays the dragon but she does not die. Alistair is torn between his new duties as king and bringing the love of his life back to health. Please R&R!
1. Prologue

_Prologue_

_*-*-*-*-*_

Mel is screaming her dismay when Alistair delivers the killing blow from the Dragon's neck. She didn't have the time to stop him; didn't move fast enough to keep him from this final sacrifice. She almost doesn't understand. Comprehend. When his body jerks backwards and he howls with pain. His very being is tearing apart in front of her.

_That is why I love you._

He gave her his heart and she is unable to save his soul.

Despair, thick and wet with the sight of the man she loves, wraps around her throat. She chokes. His body, lifeless, rolls off the dragon's back as the reptile collapses and breathes what should be it's dying breath.

Alistair's last breath is much quieter yet she can hear it. Even over her sobs. Over her thudding heart beats. She gasps in time to her grief and her feet are moving beneath her shaking body, carrying her past the dragon and to him. Her love; whether he wanted her anymore or not.

She must reach him. _You cannot sacrifice yourself Alistair. This is insanity. _She must-

With a final roar, the dragon lifts it's head and snaps at her as she vainly runs to Alistair's aid. The blow back from the roar almost sends her off her feet with surprise but the last eight months have kept her wits sharper than they have ever been. Constant battle has kept her on her toes for anything. Everything_. Except love._

Mel does not think. She does not process. _This is the sanest thing I've ever done._

She thrusts her sword, her family sword and her birthright, straight up in to the roaring mouth. Teeth dig in to her forearm. She feels her bones shatter and she screams for all that she is worth as she thrusts the weapon farther in to this evil in front of her.

_I hope you like heroes._

It is moments later, when she hears Alistair's faint cry of alarm at her predicament, that Mel understands what she's done. She has killed the Arch Demon.

She feels the death shudders rip through the dragon. They vibrate through the sword as well as the teeth buried deep in the flesh of her arm.

Moments.

Scattered moments are all she has ever had in this life as a Grey Warden.

"I cannot let you die." Her words are soft and her eyes are turned to Alistair who is struggling to his feet with horror written on his face. "My King." _My love._

The pain is greater than anything she could have ever expected and it slams in to the back of her spine with the ferocity of the demon behind it. Tearing upwards along her vertebrae, Mel is wishing for death when it takes her. She is wishing that she could see Alistair smile at her one more time. Once before it's over.

One more moment.

_Maker take me. I have completed my duty._


	2. Awakening

*-*-*-*-*

Timeless.

This darkness.

The edges are tainted with screams that she's pretty sure are her own. Body straining; she's pushing against something. Someone. The black rips through her over and over again each time bringing defeat and despair. If there was color here it would be blood red and splattered across her being.

She is a celebrated war hero across the whole damn country.

How is this the eternal fate that the Maker rewards His finer warriors?

Everything she has done in the last year has been for Him.

A tiny voice whispers between her sobbing protests, "_Not everything little one. You did most of it for him. Your fellow brother-in-arms."_

It sounds like her father's voice and she cries harder each time it returns to remind her that she has chosen this path because of love. _Love._

Timeless she has been suspended here, wondering if this is what she has to look forward to for the rest of Eternity.

"_Rise up. Take your life back."_

Melody Cousland's world is falling apart around her. She is pulled in all directions as her soul is removed from her body with a bright and shattering white light.

"_Come back to me." _

Alistair!

*-*-*-*-*

It had been a hard week for the King of Ferelden. After killing his greatest human adversary he willing sought another and knowingly went to his death. But he didn't die. He lived and his woman, freshly scorned, took his place as the Grey Warden who delivered the killing blow to the Arch Demon.

With his friends gathered close, King Alistair had dropped to his knees and watched as convulsions shook through Mel's body with a disturbing ferocity. He watched her figure slump, her arm still pierced by three separate teeth in the dragon's mouth.

He had closed his eyes, not wanting to see the broken and bloodied body of his first. He heard her voice in her head from the night before her demise. Heard the pain and disbelief in her words as she accepted that he was no longer hers. That his purpose had finally led him away from their soft words in dark tents across the country side.

It was Wynne's gasp and hand on Alistair's shoulder that brought his eyes open and his gaze upon Mel's body.

A shaky breath filled her lungs.

The King of Ferelden openly wept as he approached her and pulled her tight, her body struggling to live but clearly not dead yet.

In the days that followed many hypothesized what had happened to the Arch Demon's soul. Alistair had seen the blackness and felt it as it had passed through him. Only Mel's interference had saved him and he believed that it was possible she had managed to split the soul somehow and transfer the damage between the both of them. Many of the magi believed that, all though the dark spawn had quickly retreated following the dragons death, the Arch Demon still lived, somewhere. In some tainted body. They did not lower their guards and spent much of their time watching for signs of the dark spawn's return.

Wynne knew better. She had sensed, months earlier, that Mel had become pregnant. Tell tale signs had softened her sharp critique of the Wardens and their relationship so much that she did not speak of her suspicions to anyone.

Two days after the final battle, the bleeding started. Wynne was waiting for it and carefully nursed Mel through a messy miscarriage of a still born child. She cut the child from it's mother's womb with care and caution, knowing of no other way to free the fetus without the helpful labor of a conscious carrier. Four months along. The small body was turned black by the soul of the dragon.

A child born of the taint. A child dead from the taint.

Alistair was beside himself when she finally emerged from Mel's chambers with the small creature wrapped tight against his sight. She took the babe straight to the Chantry. "Bless her and put her in the ground. Pray for the mother then."

Wynne hurried back to Mel's chambers. The warrior's body was broken in many ways and it was taking most of her extensive healing knowledge to repair the damage. She found Alistair next to the bed, his hand gently holding the unconscious woman's.

"Will she wake now? Now that the . . . child . . . is out of her?" Wynne doesn't need to see his face to know he's crying. She can hear it in his voice; the way it hitches when it speaks of his daughter who the world will never know.

"I don't know. She is in a dark and dangerous place now, far removed from us. I only hope that once I start healing this new wound of hers that her soul returns." The mage approaches the King and lays a soft hand on the back of his neck. "Sleep, my liege. There is no more you can do for her except pray and get some rest."

He does turn his face to look at her now. His tears are slow, a broken heart grasping in the unknown for any sort of relief. "Just save her. Please."

*-*-*-*-*

The is nothing else for the Grey Warden or his companions to do now but wait and pray. All of them make sure that someone is with Mel. All of them bring meals for Wynne and take a few moments to squeeze Mel's hand except for Sten and Shale. They wait in the training yard, killing time by trading blows. A dark part of Sten feels grief for ever questioning Mel's ability as a warrior and curses the fact that she is a woman. That she was able to become pregnant in the first place. They are not close friends but she has gained his respect and he hates to see a good warrior fall.

Leliana has taken up residence at the Chantry. The quiet and rest seems to agree with her, as far as her companions could tell. She prays constantly; for the deliverance of Mel. Over the course of their travels the two women have become close friends. Nothing more, to Leliana's chagrin. Just thinking about the way Mel would gaze at Alistair when she thought no one was looking was enough to convince the redhead that it would have been a useless endeavor to push her desire. The love between the Wardens was rare. And precious. The loss of their babe weighs her heart with sadness.

It is the Dog who leaves Mel's side the least. He sits and waits patiently as his owner's body heals itself and prepares for her to return fully to the land of the willing. It is his presence that keeps the rest of them believing that Mel will be back. The dog would know if all hope was lost surely.

Two weeks of waiting and then one day it starts to rain. A heavy downpour that wipes the blood from the castle walls and courtyards. It cleanses the stone of Fort Drakon just as it cleans the cobblestone streets. In the dim light of Mel's chamber her heart slows it's beat. Next to her the Dog barks once, sharply and clearly alarmed. He noses her hand, willing her to move. To wake again.

The Dog's whines alert the resting Alistair and he is on his feet instantly at the sound. At her side, holding her other hand. In her bed she looks tiny and frail and he can't believe he had ever told her that they would never work, with their tainted blood. He only wishes for her to open those beautiful eyes and smile.

When he had initially made the choice to break off their relationship he had been thinking of everything and everyone except for himself. It was irresponsible not to provide an heir to the throne. It was selfish to think that he could deny the world the restoration of the Grey Wardens by keeping the only two remaining members sucked in by royal duty. The country needed a leader. The Grey Wardens must be rebuilt.

Now he stares down at the last part of him that really even means a damn thing to him and wishes he could have just been more selfish. Remembered that above all he needed to love.

Mel's breathing is slow and irregular and he fears her body is giving up. It's been through so much.

"I'm sorry I turned you away. I was afraid and stupid. Please Melody. Please, come back to me. Come back to me!"

*-*-*-*-*

Fading light and a new pain flow out of Mel. She feels weighted again, as though she has finally floated back to earth from whatever placeless prison has kept her in torture for so long.

She is aware of three things as soon as she stops moving.

The first is an overwhelming pain centered around her right arm and her midsection. It is a fresh pain, unlike the waves that have been pushing at her.

The second thing she realizes is that she feels warm. She is covered by a quilt and it is heavy and comforting on her skin. Wrapped in it's embrace she feels safe.

The third thing that is apparent is that someone is holding her hand and the panicked tone of the voice attached to said someone clearly labels it as Alistair.

She hears him gasp and she tries to reassure him. Her lips move but the only sound that comes out is a gasping moan. Alistair cries out her name and the hand on hers tightens it's grip. She tries to push her eyes open.

She feels weak. And empty. As if a great black hole has been torn open inside of her.

"Alistair?" It is the first word she has said in a long time she thinks. Her throat is dry, her lips chapped.

_What has happened to her?_

"Yes it's me. You're awake. You're alive. Thank the Maker!"

She manages to slit her eyes and it is a great relief to find the face leaning over her own is the same she came to love so long ago. He is handsome and his eyes are worried. He looks so agitated. She's been asleep, that much is evident. How long did she sleep? And why has she awoken? She was dead; Mel knows this much.

"Alistair, what's happened? How am I not buried in the earth?"

He is crying tears of relief is appears. He lifts her hand. Kissing it, he says, "We thought you were dead. But after you killed the Arch Demon you lived. That's all that matters my love. You lived."

Confusion knots her brow. He had explained that it much be a Grey Warden that killed the Arch Demon. No other would do in order for the demon to be destroyed. So, the Arch Demon must live.

"Have you figured out where the demon went? Why have you not killed it?"

Alistair's smile falters but does not completely leave him. "I will explain later, when you are stronger and have slept. You are tired. Oh Maker bless you. I was so worried I was going to lose you." Another kiss to the back of her hand and she is not comforted by his answer yet thinks that she could use a nap. She is so very tired.

His hand smooths the hair away from her face. The darkness over takes her again but it is a slate gray and smells like home.

*-*-*-*-*


	3. Revelation

*-*-*-*-*

"How do I tell her? How can I possibly explain what's happened to her? And the child? How do I explain that?" Alistair's sigh is heavy in the small room. Across the table Bann Teagan is looking at him with sorrow and worry. He has a soft spot in his heart for the new King and has pledged to aid him in any way possible.

But his questions have no answers that Teagan can come up with. Teagan has never been in this situation; has anyone, really? He gives Alistair no words, instead filling his glass with more whiskey brought from Orlais by the ambassador in congratulations to the new King. The whiskey has slowly been draining for the better part of two hours. Since Mel fell back asleep after her brief awakening.

Teagan watches the young king, watches his face as it shifts through an endless myriad of emotion.

"I told her that it would never work between us. That it would be so unlikely that we would be able to produce an heir to the throne. If I had only known that she was already pregnant . . . I would have made her stay behind the lines. I would have kept her safe." Alistair's eyes raise and he is so confident that everything would have been fine.

"Think about it Alistair. If she hadn't been there you would have died as the only Warden alive to deliver the killing blow. The situation is not the best, but you both made it through the battle. You made it through the war. And you know now that she can bear your children. All of your worries are past."

Alistair frowns. "Bear my children? Is that all you think I care about? I want her to be safe. I want her to live!" He is so desperate.

Teagan sees his underlying issues now. "You feel guilty don't you? And you're in pain. The loss of a child is never an easy burden for a parent to bear. Especially when the likelihood of conception was so rare."

The King says nothing. He takes a long sip of his whiskey, finishing it off, and contemplates the bottom of his glass. He is nothing like the talkative youth Teagan remembers from Redcliff. After another moment of silence Alistair stands and walks from the room without a goodbye.

Teagan sighs. He pours himself a drink and downs it. Slamming the glass down on to the table he stands as well. Alistair is likely headed back to the Lady's rooms. Teagan shall go to the Assembly Chambers, he decides, and look into the rebuilding of the country. Once the Lady has recovered Alistair is going to have a difficult task of putting his new lands back in order.

*-*-*-*-*

Leiliana hears the soft footfalls of Wynne as soon as the mage enters the Chantry. From her kneeling position she waits. She is off to the side and in the shadows. She has been here, in this spot, since word came that Mel had woken. Briefly.

She has prayed for many of the last five years this way. Out of the way and in solitude and able to keep an eye of everyone coming and going. It suits her ways; a blending of her lonely former occupation and her devotion of the Maker all at once.

She is still kneeling, quiet, when Wynne makes it to the front of the Chantry. The older woman looks distressed. Rarely has she ever shown a desire to worship. Yet, here she is. Leiliana watches curiously as the mage fidgets yet kneels at the alter. Softly she begins to pray. Leiliana cannot hear all of the words but she knows Wynne asks for their former leader's speedy recover and for forgiveness. What she requires atonement for is a mystery.

The two women remain thus for at least an hour, to the best of the rogue's knowledge. Finally Wynne rises. Her robes, some of the finest in the country found in a shop off the beaten track in Denerim, sway around her body. She has lost weight in the last few weeks. A byproduct of her requirement of forgiveness perhaps.

Wynne turns and walks away. Leiliana hopes that she is heading back to Mel's bedside.

The rogue waits twenty more minutes before rising and following Wynne's path. She walks through the streets slowly. Since the rain that morning it has become more pleasant smelling and she finds a vendor of sweet rolls that she imagines Sten will enjoy.

When she is approached from behind this time she hears nothing. The alley is darkened and the footfalls are silent. She senses nothing before the hand slips up to her mouth and stifles any cry she may have gotten out.

She knows, however, by his scent alone that it is Zevran who holds her captive. She ceases struggling and allows him to release her. They have played this game before. Cat and mouse. She had no reason to suspect it would continue after his departure.

"You are losing your touch Sister." He lets her go and when she turns he is standing several feet away. Likely to avoid any incoming attacks she thinks.

"Zevran." She sounds surprised and wary. "It is strange that you would appear like this. Why now?"

The blond sighs. He has none of his usually cheeriness. Leiliana hopes that he has merely fallen upon harsh times and requires coin to tie him over until he can earn some more funds. She knows this is unlikely.

Taking a deep breath, he surprises Leiliana even further by glancing away and wiping his eyes with his right hand. Surely he's not crying.

"I heard the news of the Warden. I have come straight from your country of Orlais to see for myself that she still lives. That she has not woken since slaying the demon. It is . . . important to me that she is still safe."

Chuckling ruefully, Leiliana takes a step closer, challenging. "If you are so worried about her well being why would you leave her when her need for you was greatest? The fight you two had was . . . the things you said to her. You really are a bad man."

The elf sags at her accusations. He steps farther back and hits the wall behind him. It is a long moment, while she watches him critically. "It was not my choice to leave. It was not my choice to be discarded."

In a blinding moment of complete clarity Leiliana sees the argument again in her head and hears the pain in both voices. They had, all of them, thought that the argument was a product of Mel's lack of amusement at Zevran's laissez-faire attitude. They had, after all, heard him say that the Sacred Urn would make a good addition to his decorations.

It makes more sense, she thinks, to substitute the distrust in Mel's voice with the hurt of someone who has been scorned. Or perhaps someone who has realized that love is a tricky thing. It is also easy to suppose that Zevran was not merely cast aside for his joke making but rather because he was _not _loved.

"Zevran . . . I . . . were you and Mel . . . intimate?"

The look he gives her breaks her heart and she steps to him. Her hand raises and cups his shoulder. If she could she would wrap him up and heal his suffering. He would enjoy that too much, she thinks. It is her hand that carries her message then and it is the sound of his breath escaping his lungs that provides the only sounds in the alley.

This throws a whole different sort of spin on the events of the last two weeks, Leiliana thinks. A very tragically different spin.

*-*-*-*-*

Mel dreams.

It is not the same eternal blackness she feels certain she has been held in for what feels like months. This new world is soft around the edges and smells like bread made from corn. It is a specialty of the family cook.

She sees Nan waving a spoon and screaming. The cook's voice raises in volume as the kitchen slowly forms in Mel's vision. Dog is in the larder again. She can't help the giggle that escapes from her throat at the sight of Nan chasing Dog chasing Nan.

She feels strong arms sweep her up and the warm, strong arms of her father tumble her. She is spinning and laughing. She is twelve years old and she is safe.

She tries to push away from him so she can see her father's face; she wants to kiss his cheek. As she turns she sees the kitchen go dark. Bodies are littering the floor. She is kneeling in front of her dying father. Her mother is already dead next to them.

He gives her a weak smile and opens his mouth to speak. Bright red blood dribbles free from the corner of his mouth instead of words.

Mel is crying and she's leaving. She has to leave. She knows that if she doesn't then the Darkspawn will kill her. She has to beat the Darkspawn.

Has to live so she can save the world.

*-*-*-*-*


End file.
